Give Us This Day
by Masked Rose
Summary: Shadow Hearts oneshots, from all through the series. Incld: Y & A's midnight talk :: Ben's last moments :: Saki and Ben in Inugami :: Yuri buys a new jacket :: A Koudelka encounter! :: NEW! Ben and Anne name their son :: NEW!Kurando and Yuri have a chat
1. Give Us This Day: Yuri, Alice, PG

DISCLAIMER: All characters and ideas in these stories are not my property. They belong to Midway, Aruze, and/or whoever else created or owns Shadow Hearts.

A/N: I like writing one-shots, but I dislike having so many free-floating little pieces, so I've just been collecting them here. The stories in this collection are not connected in any way, they're just random Shadow Hearts one-shots. Criticism is always welcome, so long as it's constructive.

THIS STORY: Give Us This Day  
RATING: PG  
CHARACTERS: Yuri, Alice (Yurice)  
WARNINGS: Fluff, SH1 game ending spoilers

Give Us This Day

Thrown against the stone path, gravel under his fingernails, blood mixing with spit as his mouth was ground against the cold ground, Yuri twisted his body and aimed the sole of his boot straight at Czernobog's chest.

"Ger'off me, ya big lug," he grunted, as the demon, tongue lolling against razor-like teeth, leaned over him. It took all of Yuri's strength to boot the fool back onto the hillside beside them. Czernobog regained his bearings in a flash, but Yuri was even faster, already on his feet and lunging at the bony creature's stomach. The impact shot tendrils of pain all the way up Yuri's arm, and his knuckles turned white and red in turns, but the stony skin cracked and Czernobog bent over with a startled growl.

"Whadd'ya want this time?"

Yuri's lucid nightmares had been far less terrible and frequent since he'd been freed from the soul of Seraphic Radiance. He'd even gone so far as to hope that the curse was really fading away. But this one, it was sharp and real, and the pain hurt just as much as that of any waking exertion would. Normally, too, the demons already beaten into submission remained subdued. What new strengthening of fear, sadness, and pain in Yuri's mind had awakened Czernobog to this rebellion?

The demon took advantage of his positioning on higher ground, and Yuri's apparent distraction, to launch himself from above, bearing down on the detested harmonixer with a beat of his terrible wings. Feeling the shadow descend, Yuri jogged back a few steps and threw himself into a spinning kick. His foot connected with Czernobog's midriff, as he had hoped, sending the demon flying again onto the hillside. But this time Yuri, too, unbalanced by the force of Czernobog's body, tumbled through the air and landed, sprawled, on a barren chunk of dirt outside the normal path.

As the huge dark elemental fell, Yuri saw him slam against his own glowing gravestone. The obsidian rock trembled, and with a jolt, the earth below tore open like a starving seamonster and swallowed its deviant child up. As the graveyard settled, Yuri finally relaxed enough to get his bearings.

Just above his head was another gravestone, but this one was small and cracked. Yuri vaguely remembered having seen it before, on previous trips. It had appeared very suddenly, although he couldn't pin down the exact moment or context, and it didn't have a name on it, or perhaps the scrawled words were too difficult to read.

Even upon thinking this, however, Yuri lifted his head and stared at the surface of little monument, only to see two words engraved deeply and permanently into the stone. Blinking, rubbing his eyes, and stumbling to his feet, Yuri looked again, hoping he might have hallucinated the previous impression. But no, the words remained the same.

Heartbeats came quickly and irrepressibly as the harmonixer tried to understand. The only people buried here in his mind were the people, or creatures, whose souls he had devoured. The graves were erected as prisons for the souls who had fallen under his curse, the hell-bound screeching spirits swallowed up in his darkness. At best he had guessed that the little grave was his own, waiting to swallow him up in turn, built up bit by bit through the malice and hatred of the souls within him. He had felt an increase in their strength and insistence since his battle with the demi-god. Their hunger for him had tripled into a ravenous craving. But there was no way such a grave as this one before him could exist. No way, unless…

Yuri didn't scream. He just woke up, starting awake so quickly, the bulk of his body tipped over the side of the bed and fell to the floor with a painful 'thud.' _Must've moved around in my sleep_, he thought as a sharp pain shot through the part of his elbow which had first connected with the wooden floor. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark; whenever he awoke like this, the foggy shadows of the real world always seemed more dream-like than the nightmares.

The wood panels being cold against his bare legs, Yuri stood and pulled on his pants. Sitting down on the edge of his bed again, the harmonixer felt how exhausted his body was; his muscles seemed heavy and sore and the arches of his feet hurt from walking. The jittery, tense feeling in his head, however, wouldn't allow him to sleep. Fear constricted his throat and chest until he felt he might puke. He couldn't get his mind off of those two words on the grave marker: Alice Elliot.

Standing quickly and roughly massaging his face with one hand, fingers digging deep into the skin as if to rub away the horrible thoughts, Yuri pulled his jacket off the foot of the bed where he had slung it and threw it around his shoulders. He stalked out into the cool air of the hallway and leaned against the railing.

It was the soft gasp of air and the sound of soft limbs gliding over the carpet that alerted him to the presence of another person. Looking down sharply, brows drawn together, Yuri identified the other night owl, to his surprise, as Alice. The petite girl was sitting at the top of the staircase, gazing at Yuri. His entrance had obviously startled her, and her legs were drawn up protectively under the skirt of her nightgown. On top of the gown, she had wrapped a large scarf around her neck and shoulders to keep out the cold. Her silver-white hair, freed from its constraining braids, fell in thick waves about her head. Yuri had never seen her with her hair down, other than the few times she had attempted to brush it or wash on their journey. Since reaching civilization, Alice had always kept these matters of personal hygiene strictly out of sight of her male companions. Seeing her like this, Yuri could understand why; she looked like some wild angel, ethereal and wide-eyed. He wanted to reach out and gather up that hair, rubbing it against his face and taking in its scent until he drowned in it.

Instead, he just looked down, surprised, and stuttered, "Alice."

"Couldn't sleep, hmm?" Alice smiled shyly at him and focused her gaze on the bottom of the staircase, as though she were waiting for something to arrive there. In profile, her face looked much paler and thinner than usual. Slight shadows had begun to appear in the delicate skin under her eyes.

"Ha ha, nah." Yuri laughed off his concern and embarrassment. "You?"

The girl tugged the scarf self-consciously tighter around her shoulders. Unbeknownst to her, a small patch of white skin was revealed on her back. Attracted by the vulnerability of that spot, Yuri approached her and seated himself on the top stair at her left. "I was… I just wanted to look around here again," she was saying. "Just to be here, seeing and hearing and feeling it."

At first her comment seemed cryptic, but a slow awareness in Yuri, a further constricting in his chest, told him that he understood all too well what she was talking about.

"Why did you do it," he asked, almost bitterly.

For a moment Alice was silent. She pulled the lacy edge of her nightgown down to cover her toes and shifted her legs restlessly. Then she said, "Because I had to."

"No, you didn't," Yuri started miserably, but his companion cut him off with a soft, but strong voice.

"Then I did it because I wanted to, if that's what you want to hear. Either way I did it, and I don't regret it, even a little."

How had she known what he was talking about, Yuri wondered, without considering for a moment that she might still not know, might be talking about something else. No, he was sure she knew, the same way he had known what was on her mind. Whether she really didn't regret it, that he found difficult to believe.

Sullenly he stared at the pattern on the carpet—grayish pears surrounded by creeping vines—and traced the weave with an idle finger. Stinging tears began to well up behind his eyes, but with gritted teeth and a 'hmph' of will he held them back. "I still don't get it," he insisted. "I lost because of my own weakness. It was my own fault. And havin' you suffer for it, that was the last thing I wanted."

"I know," Alice nodded. "And I hope you can forgive me." She hurried own before he could express astonishment at that sentiment. "But when I tried to imagine a world without you in it, it was… I just couldn't. A world without your laughter, or your voice, or your bravery. I don't want that world to exist, not yet. This earth needs you, and… so do I."

Yuri watched the girl brush a strand of silver hair behind her ear, still staring at the ground. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes crinkled with a secret smile. Small, with a slightly boyish face, narrow, faded blue eyes on either side of a straight nose, pale skin, and odd white hair, Yuri thought she was beautiful beyond description. The thought of a world without _her_ was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. He didn't feel brave at all.

"I'm really sorry," he muttered, rubbing his sweating palms together and digging his bare toe absently into the soft carpeting.

"You shouldn't be," she countered, finally looking up and turning to face him. Gazing shyly into his face as he, in turn, gazed at her, she giggled a little. Her capacity to find humor in the oddest places always astounded Yuri. He prided himself on taking things in stride, but Alice had a clever, hidden smile for all occasions, and a sense of humor he wouldn't have guessed at, that cold night in the rocky plains, when they first met. "It's already been worth it," she continued. "I've had so much fun in the last few weeks, how could I regret a minute of it?"

She laughed again, a bell-like laugh, and Yuri had to chuckle too. "Yeah, beatin' up monsters sure is a riot, huh? And there's nothin' like raiding orphanages!"

The two of them sat awhile that way, laughing and watching as the fading moonlight cast deepening shadows across the floor of the hallway. "But you know," Alice began quietly, as their humor died down, "it's moments like these that I really did it for. And this is what I'll miss the most."

"Chronic sleeplessness?" Yuri's grin twisted as he raised an eyebrow at her.

Alice favored him with one of her little glares in response. But it was short lived. "No. Being here, with… people I care about." She seemed to hesitate, chewing on her lower lip for a moment, then, with a determined flash of her eyes, she pushed ahead. "Being here with you, really. It's these moments that mean the most, even if they seem so small and worthless. It's worth it for the pleasure of just having this day—any day—to spend with you, even if it won't last. That's why I don't want to sleep, to let the days end so soon. Just sitting here quietly and seeing you and hearing you…"

"With me?" Yuri straightened his back a little uncomfortably. Suddenly his whole body seemed to itch, and he scratched the back of his neck with a restless motion. Sure, she had apparently wanted to save his life so badly, she'd given up everything. But Alice was a giving soul that way. It didn't necessarily mean that she had any special attachment to him, did it? Yuri had never felt much of an attachment to any of the people whose lives _he'd_ saved, with the exception of the silver-haired girl beside him. But to believe she felt the same way about an uneducated, hot-headed fool like him! Nah.

"Yuri, I…" Alice seemed to lose her steam and looked away again. Her scarf slipped off her left shoulder and the sight of her bare skin again aroused deep feelings in Yuri. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her and swallow her up until every part of her was completely his, protected by him, inseparable from him. "I wanted to tell you that I lo…"

The sound of a door creaking loudly on its hinges brought both companions out of their individual reveries with a horrible start. To his surprise, Yuri found he had been unconsciously leaning closer and closer to Alice as she spoke, one hand stretched towards her. Now, he jerked back in surprise. But he wasn't fast enough.

"I saw that," Margarete purred in self-satisfaction and delivered a swift kick to Yuri's ribs. "You keep your lecherous hands off of her!" As the harmonixer doubled over with a groan, nearly sliding down a few of the stairs, the older woman continued, cooing, "Oh, Alice, I was so worried. I woke up and saw that you weren't there… I was afraid something had happened to you!"

"Oh, please don't be worried." Alice consoled Margarete with a soft, pleasant voice, but Yuri detected a hint of the same scolding annoyance that sometimes appeared in her eyes when he was too bold with her.

"Don't you know you ought to be getting some sleep," the buxom spy went on, the flimsy material of her lacy nightgown clinging absently to her curves. "It's much too cold out here to be running about without clothes on!" At this point in her lecture, Margarete gave a pert nod in Yuri's direction, eyes glued on his bare chest, his jacket having slipped mostly off.

"Ha," Yuri snorted. "Looks t'me like _you're_ the one that oughta be cold." He felt some annoyance at the lost moment. "And shouldn't _you_ be sleepin'?"

Margarete sniffed and tossed her head, slightly curling golden locks, mussed by sleep, billowing about her. "Forgive me for being concerned with the health of our poor Alice. The strain is enough on her as it is!"

Margarete was undoubtedly referencing Alice's complexion, grown notably sickly in the last two weeks, and her slight loss of weight. Yuri wanted to growl that Margarete had no clue about Alice's condition or how to soothe it, but Alice had already stood up and was brushing the wrinkles out of her nightgown.

"Nevermind," she said, straightening her scarf again. "It's true, I've been very careless." She aimed her gaze directly at Yuri and murmured, "Tomorrow is a new day, and, God willing, I'm sure it will be another one worth living for."

Margarete murmured some assent and led Alice back into their shared room, but Yuri was sure the message had been for him alone. Standing slowly, he gathered up his jacket and went back into his own room to get a little more sleep. With his odd upbringing, he wasn't sure what he believed in anymore, but it seemed as likely to him that Alice had the right idea, as anybody. Indeed, more likely. As the tiny bar of light visible under Margarete and Alice's door blinked out, he thought, _Dear God, thanks for today, and, in your mercy, grant us tomorrow, too._


	2. Immemorial: Ben, ZhuZhen, PG13

A/N: This is a one-shot, part of this random collection, and not connected to the other "chapters." Constructive criticism and reviews are encouraged.

As clarification, Urmnaf is the original name used for Yuri's character in the Japanese game. And Uru is his nickname. So the name Uru, here, refers to Yuri. As additional clarification, Yuri/Uru's father was called Ben in the American SH (don't know about Japanese) and Jinpachiro in SH:C. I don't know why this is, but I attempted to make peace between the names somewhat. Anyway, both Ben and Jinpachiro, here, refer to Hyuga senior. And the guy named Zhen is NOT Li Zhuzhen. It refers to Zhongyun Zhen, Ben's friend.

Also, I like naked fusion and sometimes use it in my stories, as with the story, Bible, even though this doesn't line up necessarily with gameplay.

STORY: Immemorial  
RATING: PG-13  
CHARACTERS: Ben, Zhuzhen, Zhen  
WARNINGS: Spoilers for, I don't know, part way through SH1.

Immemorial 

With all the rumbling din of a minor avalanche, the flailing body of the hideous demon, Czernobog, slammed into the side of a building, splintering the wooden beams as easily as twigs, and fell to the ground. For a few moments he lay still, attempting to control the heavy, throbbing pain in his lungs.

Underneath him, the earth lurched suddenly and the very ground seemed to roll in waves. Czernobog lifted himself slowly to his feet, bony wings wavering furiously against the air for leverage. Even as he came into a standing position, a limp body was thrown to the ground at his right.

The demon's lead-colored eyes gazed off into the distance where a massive gathering of energy was focusing. Hidden in the depths of this mass, he could just make out the form of an enormous creature, stretching its heavy limbs and extending its neck in preparation of an enraged scream. "We're too late," the man beside Czernobog panted, climbing slowly, painfully, to his knees and nodding at the emerging creature. "There's no way we can fight him… not like this."

Czernobog spared his companion a glance and felt a spear of pain and frustration pierce his heart; the young Chinese man was wiping blood away from his mouth and nursing a bruised leg. In his condition, he would barely be able to stand, much less keep up the fight. "I'm sorry, I've failed you, Ben," the man muttered.

But the demon only shook his head solemnly and pulled in his wings. A fierce wind was now whipping through the area, snapping off tree branches and stirring up dust until the air itself seemed brown. Ben deeply regretted letting go of Czernobog's body, relinquishing the bone-plated, armor-like skin and the convenient haze of bitterness and apathy which always clouded the demon's thoughts. With a shivering convulsion and a heady rush of blood through his vessels, Ben found himself standing in his own body, trembling, naked, in the cold. The dust instantly blew into his nose and eyes, no longer protected by the darkness demon's membranes. He choked on the air.

With an unsteady hand, Zhen tugged off his jacket and offered it to his friend, partly because of the wind and partly because of the man's nakedness, but Ben shook his head again. "There's still something I can do," he said very quietly, in slightly accented Chinese.

"Oh, sure, Ben," the other man agreed with a weak laugh. "I wasn't about to quit." Zhen grimaced as he placed weight on his injured leg, doing his best not to let Ben see. The Japanese man, while neither extremely tall nor large, had an air of regality and strength about him which seemed to admit of no weakness in its vicinity. And before that strength, Zhen had found his own courage time and again. He wouldn't fail now, either.

Ben waved an irritable hand, rough with broken skin, scars, and worn knuckles, in Zhen's direction. "You're not coming, Zhen. You can't do anything anymore." He hadn't meant it to come out so condescending; it was never Ben's intention nor desire to flaunt his peculiar talents. All the same, Ben was perfectly aware that the path ahead was meant only for him. He had no time left to contemplate the possible failings of his plan, let alone the repercussions. There was only time to act.

"Ben…"

"Good-bye, Zhen. I wouldn't be here without your support. Thanks for everything. And keep out of the way."

Leaving his companion no time to wonder about his words, Ben took off into the jungle of dust and debris between him and his horrible fate. As he ran, he saw Zhuzhen coming at him from the left. The powerful conjurer had a distinct flare, a lingering scent, perhaps, of his fire element. His initial instinct to warn the man away was overridden by a sudden thought.

"Zhuzhen, come with me. I may need your help."

"Where are you going?" Zhuzhen's long braid whipped ferociously in the wind, thrashing about his head like an infuriated serpent. The sight of it made Ben glad of his own, closely shorn hair.

"Listen," the young officer called, raising his voice above the howling racket of the energy ball, now drawing insidiously close. "I'm going in. There's a good chance I don't come out. But listen," he continued before his friend could protest. "If I do this," Ben held up one hand, crossing his index and middle fingers, "that's the sign." The demon body Ben frequently possessed was not equipped with human vocal chords. Over time, the three companions had developed forms of visual communication with which to coordinate their attacks. "It means I'm in."

"You really think you can…" Zhuzhen gave the monster, now almost overhead, a worried glance. He had seen Ben transform into the dark elemental many times, but even the large, vicious form of Czernobog seemed pathetic in comparison with the entity above them. And he knew full well the limits and weaknesses of Ben's abilities.

"I don't know," Ben conceded truthfully. It was almost too loud to be heard now. The sky was merely an expanse of black clouds and lightning. "But if you see the sign, you've got to act. If I do get in, I may not be able to hold it for long. As soon as I signal, you attack."

"Attack what?" Zhuzhen grabbed at the wildly twisting end of his braided locks and tucked it under his collar to stop the tail from whipping him in the face. His clothes were tattered and the wind blew icily through the holes in the fabric. He wondered with admiration how Ben could stand being naked in that storm. Small rocks and pieces of splintered wood were being thrown into the other man's body, leaving thin red streaks in his flesh. "Ben?"

"Attack _it_, of course," Ben laughed. He didn't laugh because there was anything funny about instructing his close friend to attack him while he inhabited the monster's body. Rather he laughed because it was too terrible to cry. No hesitation could be shown. He cut Zhuzhen off again. "It's the only chance. If I can subdue it even for a minute, I can lower all its defenses and hold it still just long enough for you to destroy it. Zhen's hurt. I'm relying on you. You can't afford to wait, in case I lose control."

"Jinpachirou" Zhuhen yelled sternly, using Ben's true name, the name that Ben laughed off, the one that made him shudder and come to attention now. "I won't kill that thing while you're in it. That would kill you, too." He came to a full halt and grabbed roughly at Ben's shoulder.

But Ben wouldn't have it. That physical contact. Not now; his mind was made up. "Li Zhuzhen, if I go in there, and that thing takes over me, eats me up… I will never forgive you if you _don't_ kill me." Zhuzhen was shocked at the solemnity of the young man's word, although they made perfect sense. "You can't stop me from trying to fuse with him. I've already decided. The only choice you have is to either kill me mercifully or allow me to become a raging, mindless monster. If you're truly my friend, your path is clear."

"But what if you manage to hold it, there would be no need…"

Ben pretended not to hear the sage's words. The wind and the screaming of _it_ was so loud, it was an easy bluff to pull. There was simply no way to take that chance. A moment's hesitation could mean the destruction of Ben's soul. "Ok, remember," he called back, holding out his crossed fingers as he began to run again.

"Ben…" Zhuzhen called, but they both knew what he really meant was 'farewell.'

Shutting his eyes tightly, Ben reached out and found the monster's mind. It was less a mind and more a swirling mass of ire and maliciousness. But it was there.

This form of fusion, reaching out and attempting to conquer a still-living mind, to force the souls' union onto an unwilling host, was very dangerous and usually failed miserably. Truth be told, Ben had never performed it. He was vaguely aware that he could, being able to feel, like an aftertaste, the presence of monsters' minds. But the actual act of melding his mind to that of another, the act of allowing his body to warp into another's shape, was reserved strictly for Czernobog, a dark elemental who had been with him since childhood, sleeping in the caverns of his soul. They were like one, feeling each other's heartbeat and breathing each other's air. This creature before Ben was a foreigner, an enemy.

Nevertheless, Ben let his mind expand, probing the monster's. He lowered the well-trained walls which stood guard over his sanity and made contact. Like a wave, the force of the hatred and violence hit him, and a feeling like nausea burst over him. Gritting his teeth, heedless of the sand that now railed against his cracked lips and gums, Ben pushed his being, as only a harmonixer knows how, out of itself and into the enemy's. As he felt his body twisting and vanishing, his limbs melting like so much pudding left out in the sun, a thought crossed his mind, allowing him to focus on a memory instead of the overwhelming hatred being fed him by the furious beast.

It was a memory of Anne.

In the memory, Anne held up their first and only child, a squealing, pink thing, and laughed. In his memory, she stood at the fire, stirring broth, or cutting up fish. Sometimes she knelt on the dirt floor and played peek-a-boo with the child, who, in his memory, aged year by year. And now she let down her curious red-brown hair from the careful braids which kept it out of her face during the day. And in his memory he came and kissed her on the neck, her pale, soft neck, and took her in his arms. Her kimono fell to the floor and, in his memory, he panted and she gasped for air.

And in his memory, the boy, Uru, cried angry tears and pounded his little fist into the floor. He said, _why are you going again? You _always_ leave!_ And his red eyes, token of his heritage, flashed. And Ben knew, sadly, that the talent had been passed down. _You always leave us here alone!_ And Ben, because he had felt guilty and known that it was true, had lost his temper and told the boy to go do his chores. To be a man.

Oh, Uru, forgive me, Ben thought. He was light-headed now, and felt that the arms and legs of the massive creature were his arms and legs. At the will of his thoughts, the monster stirred, thrashing wildly against him, but becoming subdued all the same. He used all of his will-power to thrust away the thing's will and assert his own. Slowly, painfully, he lifted one of the creature's arms, one of his arms, and crossed the index finger in front of the middle one.

Oh, Anne, forgive me, he thought. Exhausted, he let his back slump. The weight of his wings, huge and jagged, made him feel heavy and sluggish. He felt the dizziness as the monster's mind rubbed against his, nibbling on him, pushing forward like a dark cloud blotting out the sun. Czernobog screamed and thrashed, but the creature devoured him, freeing Ben of him at last. Or maybe he was freeing Czernobog of Ben. It didn't matter. Everything was misty now and weightless and a terrible rage at his mistreatment filled him. His arms and legs began to stir of their own will, the head to turn from side to side; he looked through the eyes and saw everything the head took in, but he couldn't focus on anything. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and tear everything around him to shreds, to end the pain and confusion by snapping the bodies of the pathetic life forms around him in two. He could smell their stench. Out of the corner of his vision, as the head swung again to the left, he caught sight of a small figure, a red-robed Chinese man, lifting his arms to cast a spell.


	3. Cry, Little Sister: Saki, Ben, PG

_A/N: This was on a request from my sister, but I thought I'd post it since she says, like with the Valentines, there isn't enough Saki fiction. Although, I guess I failed her since it's really more about Ben. In any case, it's possible I made stuff up in this story since I couldn't remember the particulars, but hopefully people will forgive me for any inaccuracy. I combined the Ben and Jinpachiro name thing again._

THIS STORY: Cry, Little Sister  
RATING: PG  
CHARACTERS: Saki, Ben, Kawashima  
WARNINGS: Possible Covenant spoilers

Cry, Little Sister

It was a day when the sun shone down on the village of Inugami like a benevolent spirit, piercing every crevice and hollow, bathing the trees in light so that their pale leaves sparkled and danced. The great waterfall, shrine of Inugami, rumbled in its cavern, a great, sleeping beast. And every villager who could walk or be carried was gathered around the shrine, carrying lanterns, playing flutes, and otherwise congratulating the young man at the center of the activities. Everyone, that was, except his sister.

Instead of dancing and singing or sharing a cup of warm wine with her brother, Saki was crouched in the cool shade just inside the surrounding woods holding her stomach. "Too many sweets…" she mumbled moodily as a wave of nausea washed over her. It felt much better to be away from the commotion; she had had to walk some ways down the path to get a little privacy, and even now the call of some child, running wild around the path came to her ears.

Not wanting to be seen in such an embarrassing condition, Saki tiptoed further into the forest and crouched down on a patch of moss. Wet, grungy moss, Saki thought bitterly as the dampness soaked through her kimono. But there was no help for it. Sitting down was the only way to settle her stomach. Instinctively, Saki reached up a hand to feel if her intricately done-up hair had fallen down. Her fingers brushed some rebel strands and Saki impatiently tried to weave them back into place.

The sound of two sets of footsteps on the gravel path nearby invoked silence from the girl. The sound of a familiar voice bought alertness.

"Good day, Kawashima-san," Ben's voice said.

"Ah, let me congratulate you, Jinpachiro."

Saki knew roughly that Kawashima-san was an important Japanese dignitary. Much more than that, she had found it hard to be interested in. Ben was always writing letters to him, but he didn't elaborate much on their content. _They must have a business relationship_, she thought. Only strangers and stiff adults called him Jinpachiro. Friends used his nickname, Ben, although their mother privately thought the Anglicization vulgar. Ben had always been open-minded about foreigners. Maybe too open-minded.

"Thank you, Kawashima-san. It's a great honor for me."

"And well deserved, I'm sure," the older man's voice contained a slight laugh. Saki felt a thrill of rebellion rise up. Outsiders weren't supposed to be present at the ceremony. Didn't Ben know that their family was hardly respected anymore, much less celebrated. Years of distrust and skepticism had turned the hearts of the Japanese people away from the ancient family of protectors.

"Please, Kawashima-san." Ben laughed in turn. "You give me too much credit. I have only passed one, small test. Many more lay ahead." Ben, for all his sense of humor and light-heartedness could be very formal and modest at times. Saki felt the sudden urge to see the faces of the conversing pair. Carefully, she edged forward through the thicket, suddenly grateful for the wet moss as it absorbed the sound of her movements.

"Indeed," the man was saying. Saki could just make out his face between a break in some branches. He had a solid, but kind face, worn by work and care. "And they will be very hard ones, if you seriously wish to carry out your plans."

Bushes rustled as the young girl's head shot up. Her round eyes glinted with apprehension; Ben had told her nothing of any plans. A slight tension built up in her chest at the idea of Ben keeping important secrets from her, but she fought the sentiment away.

"I do," Ben replied with a nod. His gorgeous, full hair fell slightly in his face.

"Well, the Japanese army will be glad to have you, Jinpachiro. Your particular talents will come in handy, I have no doubt."

Wide eyes grew wider. It couldn't be true, what Saki was hearing. The army? Sure, the Hyugas were devoted to the protection of their country, but the army? The government had turned its back on the Harmonixer clan long ago.

"Nor have I," Ben grinned, running one hand through his messy, black locks. He suddenly seemed to feel this was inappropriate for the occasion, for his arm snapped down in one swift movement and he bowed his head stiffly. "Which is why I'm honored to offer my services. Anything for Nippon."

"Well, I'll be seeing you soon, then. Your training will begin in a week, as we've agreed…"

Unable to contain the straining in her heart, Saki burst forth from her hiding place, black braids flying and arms flailing wildly. "Ben," she cried miserably as the two men started in surprise and turned shocked faces to her. "What are you doing?"

"S..Saki!" Ben's face drained of color within seconds. He seemed frozen between action and impotence. "What?"

"What are you saying," Saki continued, ignoring the presence of the other gentleman. Her chest was heaving and blood flushed her cheeks. Hands on her girlish hips, she thrust out her chin and looked her older brother straight in the eye. "What is this all about?"

Obviously mortified, Ben looked helplessly from Kawashima to his sister, mouthing silent words. "I… please forgive…" he was mumbling to Kawashima. This only increased Saki's rage. How dare he pass her over for this self-contented outsider?

Kawashima suppressed a sad smile and bowed to Ben. "I'll be seeing you, Jinpachiro. You know where to find me, if you need me." Even as Ben bowed back, the man was hastily disappearing around a bend in the path, leaving the two siblings alone with one another.

"Saki," Ben muttered darkly. "Were you spying on us?"

Big, angry tears welled up in Saki's burgundy eyes. The shame written on his face revealed the utter seriousness of his conversation with the military dignitary, the truth of Saki's suspicions. "I hate you," she exclaimed suddenly, rushing forward and shoving her fists into her brother's chest as hard as she could. "I hate you, I hate you!"

Pebbles scattered under Ben's heels as he stumbled backwards, pushing at Saki with one hand and waving the other in a desperate attempt at keeping his bearings. "Saki, stop! Stop! That hurts… Saki!" Ben Hyuga grabbed bother of his sister's wrists with his own large hands. Slender fingers tightly held her little arms as tears appeared in his own eyes. Saki, meanwhile was sobbing openly, ladylike behavior be damned!

"What are you thinking? You can't go away!" Her breath came in gasps as wave after wave of accusations spilled forth. "We need you here. I need you here. You only just got your powers, you idiot! Do you really think you're any good to anybody like this?"

"Please." Ben forcibly led Saki to the edge of the path and sat her, a bit harshly, down on a large stone. He knelt beside her. "Listen to me, Saki. I need to do this. Kawashima-san is an important man, and he's been telling me of the problems that are arising in Japan. Our country needs someone like me."

"This country," Saki spat heatedly, breaking her wrists free from his grasp, "has never done anything for you! You'll just get killed. So, you fought one stupid battle and gained your fusion powers." A slight blush colored Saki's cheeks again. A lingering resentment of Ben's accomplishment, his coming-of-age, remained despite her best efforts. How long would it be before her own awakening? "That's nothing! Do you know how hard it is to be a harmonixer?"

"Do you?" Ben countered gently, with a slight smile. "Saki, I know this is hard. And I shouldn't have kept it from you, but…" Ben looked shame-facedly at the ground. "I wasn't sure quite what I wanted either. And I didn't want you to worry unnecessarily."

"When were you gonna tell me," the girl sniffed, gazing reproachfully into her brother's own crimson irises. "When you left?"

"No," Ben's eyebrows drew together. "Of course not. Don't be dramatic, little princess." He favored her with an affectionate, condescending pat on the head.

"I won't be little much longer," Saki retorted dryly, but she couldn't quite prevent a smile from playing about the corners of her mouth.

"Hmm, no. It frightens me every day how old you look." Ben laughed, leaning back and settling his weight on his heels. Suddenly solemn, he nodded at his own chest. "And I tremble to think that one day you'll carry this burden, too." His eyes darkened. "You're right. It's not easy. I've only had this spirit in me for one day, and already I feel its weight. But I also feel a great responsibility. To use our gifts for a true cause. I can't just sit around here all day, carrying this around in me. I know that, now, for sure."

Saki scowled and looked at Ben's body. It didn't _look_ any different to her. She had caught a glimpse of him emerging from the trial, sweating and covered in gray dirt and thin trails of blood. She had hidden, to her shame, in her room all night, afraid to speak to him. But now, in his festive robes, he looked just like the old Ben. "It's a stupid gift, anyway," she pouted, rubbing her nose with one hand.

"I know you don't really think that," Ben sighed, staring off into the distance. "I know you'll come to understand as much as I do how important it is for me to protect our country. This is what the Hyuga family has been meant to do all along."

Saki reached out slowly and played absently with the petals of a drooping flower by her feet. "We have never been a part of the army," she insisted. "You could be sent far away. You'll have to abandon us."

"I'm not abandoning anyone," Ben said firmly, eyes darkening again. There was a new depth to his voice, a new growl, which Saki had never heard before. Was it the voice of the demon? She shuddered, the hint of new tears itching in her eyes. He was continuing: "You, and everyone in Inugami, are a part of this country, our people. And the real duty of the Hyugas was to protect these people. We've forgotten that. It's time to step up and reclaim our right. Even if I have to do it secretly. Even if I have to hide my true identity from the other soldiers. These trials will have to be suffered, too."

_Damn Ben and his stupid idealism_, Saki groaned. What happened to the days when the two of them had used to run through the forest barefoot, shrieking and laughing? When had he stopped pinching her and pulling her pigtails? When had he grown so solemn?

"Hmph," she said.

"I know it's hard to understand, Saki, but believe me. This is what I have to do." He ran a few fingers through his drooping locks. "I have to cut my hair before I join," he mused. "Would you cut it for me? You're so good at that."

Two pairs of red eyes locked together, shimmering and sad. "Yes, of course, brother," Saki sighed, lowering her head shyly.

"Excellent." Ben stood and took Saki's hand, helping her to her feet. "Then let's go back to the party, huh? It's a pretty stupid waste, us two sitting around out here bawling like a couple of babies!" He laughed a little and poked his sister irreverently.

"You better bet I'm not going to let you out of my sight for the whole next week," Saki retorted with a grin, wiping the tears away from her eyes. Some of her makeup came off in streaks on her fingers. "Oh, my face," she murmured.

Ben stooped down and rubbed the thin black smudges away from her eyes. "There. You look beautiful now, little princess." Then he took her hand again and led her back to the cavern where the sound of people singing and dancing could still be heard.


	4. Trench: Yuri, Gepetto, PG

A/N: As usual, this is just a one-shot and the characters and themes don't belong to me.

I know all about the Lenny sidequest, but I don't take that ultimate armor too seriously. After all, Yuri was wearing that coat the whole game long. Well, like it or dislike it, this is just a totally made-up scene, and sorry for any discrepancies. Additionally, they are in Zurich, not Gepetto's flat in Paris. And I often consider thera, mana, and pure as herbs or drugs. Some are uppers, some downers.

STORY: Trench  
RATING: PG  
CHARACTERS: Yuri, Gepetto  
WARNINGS: Spoilers for SH1, SH1 Bad Ending

Trench

_The coat in question was a brown, leather trenchcoat, with wide shoulders and a fitted waist. It must, at one time, have been nice, with a white-trimmed hem and a turned-up collar, but time and use had long ago worn away all its charms. It now told the story of his life: simple, mud-stained, and unassuming. With a dull sheen barely worth noticing, it served to protect him not only from the cold but from the prying eyes of fellow delinquents and nobodies. The leather at the waist looked tired and thin from the constant contact with abrasive belts, and the whole length of the material was covered with faded spots and patches, including one clumsily-stitched repair job where the left sleeve had been torn clean off. Nevertheless, the coat had been worn so constantly, so religiously, that it had scarce ever been off his body, except to be subjected to the constant washing made necessary by the splatter of blood and other various slimes and goos which seemed to go hand in hand with the rampaging undead, and sometimes to sleep. Until now, when it had been removed one final time, to be wrapped tenderly around her shoulders, cooling, but not yet stiff with death. At a time when she was cold as stone and scented with funeral perfumes, it carried his warmth and his smell with her into the grave. It carried his heart with her, too, and, with her, it found its resting place under six feet of unforgiving dirt._

"You can't just lie there all day, you know."

The admonishing voice belonged to the stooped old puppeteer who, even now, was leaning over Yuri's face far too close for comfort.

"Yes, I can," the harmonixer replied pettily, in no mood to be lectured to by decrepit old geezers. The faded couch he now occupied had comprised most of his life lately, the part that wasn't spent visiting the little hill anyway.

"You need to get out of the house," Gepetto continued, unfazed. The closing of the other man's eyes was the only response he got, but he pressed on in spite of it. Gepetto was that type of nosy person who was able to butt into other people's affairs without seeming intrusive. "I'm going shopping in town. You're welcome to come along."

One garnet-colored eye opened wide enough to fix Gepetto with a derisive look. "You're going shopping?" Yuri repeated in a tone of voice which implied this was an activity he generally reserved for members of the fairer sex.

It was the minute raising of the eyebrows and a quirk of the mouth altering Gepetto's face as he said, "There are a few necessities I need to pick up," that told Yuri the old man's intentions as clearly as if he had shouted them out to the whole room. He was going out to buy a refill for his little silver flask.

"Oh ho," Yuri replied with all his usual finesse and discretion, the springs of the old couch groaning in protest as he rolled over on his side. "Goin' to buy liquor, huh?"

"Pipe down!" Gepetto humphed, looking nettled, but he was rewarded by nothing more than a scoff from the younger man. Gepetto still had his pride, but Yuri didn't see what the big to-do was about; it wasn't as if it were a big damn secret, leastways not from anyone who lived in the house.

With a start, Yuri found himself sitting upright, wayward locks of dark hair falling into his face, his mind unsettled by his own wandering thoughts. Had he really just considered himself as someone who 'lived in this house?' He had no technical right to impose on the family, and just because he'd taken over their back parlor couch, covered its graying cushions with angry tears... Maybe Gepetto was right, annoying as it was to admit; he needed to get out before he got too attached. He didn't want to get attached to anything right now, least of all something that had once been hers. It was too soon to repeat the pain of separation. Feeling Gepetto's gaze upon him like an itch, he managed to say, "Well, maybe I need a haircut..."

Before he had time to think about it, Yuri found himself standing outside a bland little shop with bunches of faded grapevines painted around the windowframes, subjected to a cool and persistent wind which made him think longingly of his old trenchcoat. He could have gone inside, but he wasn't inclined to tag along after Gepetto like some lost boy. Yuri'd already been addressed once as the old fogie's grandson, an accusation he'd responded to with the sort of loud and derisive laugh which probably didn't do his reputation with Gepetto any favors.

So he stood there, stomping his feet with impatience, when a new intrusion sprouted up like a weed blotting the scenery of the otherwise deserted street. It was an old man, and if Yuri liked to think of Gepetto as decrepit, this new character would have to be denounced as positively decaying. Although dressed in a manner which suggested he supported himself quite easily, despite being too old to work, he smelled of an overripe vegetable garden, and thick stubble was coming in all around his chin, as if he hadn't seen his reflection in a mirror for several days. He looked like one of those rich eccentrics who have outgrown moderation and discretion in all of their forms. Yuri studiously ignored the stranger's approach, but the old man was not to be so easily deterred. He hobbled straight up to Yuri as if they were particularly close cohorts and croaked:

"You got any mana root, young man?"

Yuri favored his unwanted companion with an incredulous look, while his hand unconsciously traveled to the pack he wore on his hip, as if to ensure its contents had gone unmolested. It wasn't that the request in particular shocked him-when he'd been growing up in China, he'd seen plenty of people who wandered the street, craving the mind-enhancing drug-but this guy was definitely invading his personal space, something which Yuri considered unforgivable besides being just plain annoying.

"Do I look like a dealer?" he responded evasively, his voice gruff with the intention of discouraging the man's pleas. Without replying, a certain hopeful light in the other's eyes conveyed a depressing and slightly insulting answer. _Ok, I _really_ need a haircut, then_, Yuri thought. The man was leaning closer, his eyes glassy and overexcited, as if mere proximity and force of will could influence the harmonixer's words. Panicking, Yuri looked around wildly for another way out of the conversation. The shop across the street had an open door which suddenly seemed to beckon to him like a mother's arms. "Uh, I really need to go. I need a new..." He glanced up at the wooden sign above the shop's door: a tailor's. "...suit."

Without giving the other a chance to question this boldfaced lie, Yuri bolted across the way and through the open door, causing a tiny bell to announce his presence to a startled-looking clerk. "Can I assist you?" the man queried in a pinched tone which suggested Yuri needed rather more help than anyone could give, but, with a curt shake of the head, Yuri muttered, "just browsing," and tromped off among the bolts of fabric until he reached the storefront window, from which he could still see the old addict hanging pathetically about outside the shops.

_Dammit, hurry it up, Gepetto!_ Yuri thought impatiently, tapping his fingers on the streaky, newly-cleaned glass of the window. He turned around to continue tromping, when he caught sight of something which made the harumph catch in his throat. It was a rack of long, elegant coats in shades of gray, black, and brown, in preparation for the coming winter: trenchcoats. Hesitantly, Yuri reached out and ran a finger across the lapel of a gray specimen. It was a much nicer coat than his old one, devoid of any of _that_ coat's characteristic scratches and mudstains. The lining was shiny and new, and the hem, stitched painstakingly straight, was untroubled.

And yet, he could barely bring himself to touch the fabric-certainly couldn't bring himself to remove the coat from the rack-without envisioning the smooth leather wrapped around a girlish form. The cuff of every sleeve evoked memories of a gentle hand, every stiff collar called up white hairs, softly falling. And every one of them, from black to brown, smelled like death.

"Maybe you don't need another trenchcoat," said a voice at Yuri's right ear.

It was a painful but undeniable truth that Yuri cried out as loudly as if he had been stabbed, and with considerably more terror in his voice, and knocked over a basket of cufflinks. That Gepetto laughed didn't improve things any.

"What the hell are you doing sneakin' up on me like that?" the younger man demanded, his face flushed with equal parts adrenaline and embarrassment.

The puppeteer grinned toothily. "I saw you in here through the window. Shopping, were you?"

"No!"

"I don't know why not. You need a new coat."

"It was cold, ok? You took your sweet time! I wanted t'go in where it was warm." Yuri crossed his arms and wandered a few steps away, pretending to be absorbed in something going on outside the window, even though in truth there was nothing to see except the addict tying a knot in the shoelace of one of his surprisingly expensive-looking, yet worn boots. The next thing Gepetto said, something about being done and meeting him at the corner, fell on deaf ears, as did the jingling of the bell as he left, for Yuri's gaze had fallen upon something truly distracting.

It was a mannequin in the corner of the window, one he hadn't noticed from the street. Hanging across the shoulders of its cloth frame was a short, grey jacket. Sporty and slick, it was the opposite of everything his old coat had been, the opposite of everything _he_ had been. This jacket, with its wide, turned up cuffs, was bold. The fitted darts along the sides, the buckled straps, were flattering. The jacket looked like life, and the man who wore it would step out into the world with confidence and fearlessness. Even if it were the fearlessness of having nothing to lose.

"How much is that jacket?" Yuri demanded, spinning to face the clerk who was wearily collecting the fallen cufflinks and returning them to their upturned basket. The man named a price which made his snobbish suspicions of earlier seem a bit more justified. "Hunh, right," the harmonixer replied. "I'll be right back."

The various parts of the mana plant, which, on ingestion, have a notable effect on concentration, awareness, and mental energy, are absolutely necessary for the professional adventurer. They are, therefore, always readily available if you know where to look, and it wouldn't be that surprising for an active young man to be carrying some.

Outside, Gepetto was nowhere in sight, and the addict was huddled against the side of the grapevine-covered building, using the wall to block the increasing wind. He seemed very surprised when Yuri approached, and even more surprised when he uttered these words:

"So, how much you willin' to pay, anyway?"

"Nice jacket," said Gepetto as the two men sat at the kitchen table, drinking the newly-acquired whiskey. But Yuri refused to be rattled, or even to reward his companion with so much as a stutter or glare. Languidly, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" he said. "I ordered some pants from the same material."

Gepetto tapped his glass against the wooden tabletop in amusement. "Well, well. You're going to be a whole new Yuri."

"Yeah," Yuri agreed, turning his head to stare out the kitchen window. Beyond the floral curtains, he could just make out the rise of the little hill and the silhouette of the lone tree. "Yeah," he repeated. "That's the idea."


	5. Road to Hell: Koudy, Edward, James, PG13

A/N: None of these characters belong to me, of course. For cool info on "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," check out samueljohnson dot com slash road dot html. Aegis, the typo is fixed, thanks!

This is a Koudelka fanfic. I know that's the least known/played game in the series. No particular knowledge of that game is needed beyond, I suppose, that three people who don't really like each other are trapped in a spooky manor hunting down Evil.

STORY: The Road to Hell  
RATING: PG-13  
CHARACTERS: Koudelka, Edward Plunkett, James O'Flaherty  
WARNINGS:

The Road to Hell

Every room in the sprawling, dilapidated house had turned out to be a nest of ill-will and evil spirits, and it could scarce be said that any meter of it felt 'safe,' and yet there was no mistaking the claustrophobic feeling which clutched tightly at Koudelka's heart, a feeling which increased with every step the tense little group took towards the door looming at the end of the hallway.

"There's something in there," she said at last, her fingers tightening instinctively around the handle of the rusting butcher's knife she'd been carrying.

Ahead of her, the men faltered a step or two and then turned warily to face her, one with a carefully guarded expression, the other the very picture of weariness and skepticism. "Let's not get excited," O'Flaherty began.

Koudelka was at the end of her rope with the overbearing priest. "I can feel it, alright?" she snapped, her jaw muscles contracting so tightly it made her face ache. The dislike and sarcasm might as well have been radiating off of her in visible waves for all she did to hide them. "If you're too good to take the word of this poor, misguided sinner, then, by all means, charge right in. I won't stop you!"

"I'm sure you wouldn't," O'Flaherty retorted, all indignation. His pale, thin face took on the glow of the self-righteous. "So far you haven't..."

"Hey, hey-" Edward Plunkett's voice went either unheard or unheeded by both of his temperamental companions, who seemed to be locked in a glaring competition, severe priest versus sultry witch.

"...shown any inclination to..."

"I said, _shut up_!" This time Edward's words were shouted, not spoken, and accompanied by his hands grasping the older man's shoulders and giving them a rough shake. His actions had a much more pronounced effect than even he could have hoped for; everyone present fell silent in timid surprise as his voice echoed eerily through the empty hallway. Koudelka paused and briefly inclined her head to the side, like a radio antenna, searching for reception.

Eventually she said, "Great. Now it knows we're here."

Words could barely express the frustration the self-proclaimed adventurer felt at this latest rebuke of his good intentions. _The road to Hell, right?_ he thought. He might have made an effort at a snappy comeback, but his ruminations on the matter were cut short by the next words out of the provocative gypsy's mouth. She said, "Well then, I'll check it out in there." She was already striding purposefully towards the door, knife at the ready, clearly finished with the argument and ready to move on. Her hand was brushing cobwebs off the carved brass doorknob before Edward's protest reached his lips.

"You can't just go in there!" He faltered. "It's dangerous!"

The thick ponytail of chestnut-colored hair whipped around Koudelka's shoulder as she turned back to survey her companions. "Now that it knows we're here, it's hiding," she explained, with an impatient edge to her voice, as though she were speaking to young children. "_I'm_ the only one who can sense it, so I _have_ to go first. You two would be at a disadvantage."

Edward shook his blond head unhappily, wondering if she were merely refusing his help because her pride wouldn't allow her to be rescued by a big, strong man. Nevertheless, he plunged on. "You're not well enough armed," he argued, pulling out his pistol from its holster and cocking it thoughtfully. His fingers danced across the cool metal of the barrel as if the presence of the firearm filled him with some indescribable energy. "I'm the only one with a gun here. I should go first. You two can call out warnings, and I'll shoot it dead before it gets within three meters of us."

"You'd put all your faith in your little weapons?" Koudelka asked incredulously, fixing Edward with her glare. "After everything you've seen here?"

Rousing himself from his attitude of sulking, James O'Flaherty added his pinched tenor to the argument. "I hate to say it," he said tightly, "but Koudelka is right. If the creature behind those doors is truly a demon of some power, brute force alone will never conquer it." His gaze wandering absently to the high, arching windows of the hallway, and the dusky scenery beyond them, and his fingers unconsciously caressing the dull little cross he wore under his collar, the priest's voice took on the tone of one who knows his unpleasant duty and must stick to it. "I must go first," he continued, to the others' surprise. "I will hold the demon back with holy prayers. While it is weakened under the power of the Lord, you two will be free to attack it."

At this, Koudelka laughed outright, a humorless, jarring sound in the unearthly stillness of Nemeton. "So" she mocked, "you would have our lives hang on the supposed goodwill of your God? And what if he doesn't deign to come to the aid of his devoted servant?"

Bristling under her sneered attack, O'Flaherty resembled nothing so much as a cornered cat. "I don't pretend to think myself perfect, but at least I don't rely on the powers of the _Devil_!"

Voices rose in proportion to the personal insult carried through the argument. Koudelka fired back, "Where was your God when all of these people were suffering in this hellhole? Where was your God when that crazy couple tried to poison us?"

"This isn't helping!" Edward shouted, but his words were lost amid the confusion of flaring tempers and hastily spoken words. For all his companions took note of him, Edward might as well have been invisible. He might as well have thrown himself to the beast behind the door…

"It isn't my place to question His acts! But it is my duty to carry out His Will to the best of my ability!"

"Wonderful job you've done so far, too! If it weren't for us, you'd be dead."

With a grimace, the intrepid adventurer glanced up at the wooden portal, the only barrier between them and whatever lay beyond. _Sometimes_, he told himself with a smirk at his own corniness, _actions speak louder than words_. And so pondering, he readied his pistol, charged the door, bursting it open with one solid kick, and threw himself into a ready position just inside the room. His racing eyes took in every corner of the large chamber, and his arms twisted back and forth as he aimed at every fleeing shadow, but no hulking beast came to greet him.

The room was a large one, with a vaulted stone ceiling and windows all along the east wall. Their dusty, cobweb-laced panes let in the fading light in sporadic splashes, casting a strange, flickering pall over the floor. It was devoid of all furniture save for a few cracked stone benches in the corners and one dead, rotting potted plant of a variety which Edward had never seen. And although the dust in the room looked recently disturbed—it was visible swirling through the air wherever the struggling rays of light struck it—nothing else in the room moved or breathed, save Edward, still swiveling back and forth with tense, controlled movements, squinting into the all the dark crevices of the room, and even scanning the tiled floor, once covered in some colorful mosaic, but now so faded that its design was impossible to make out. Through the open doorway, he could see the faces of his companions, perfect masks of horror and incredulity at his actions, but at least they'd shut up.

Giving the room another confused once-over, Edward met their searching gazes. "I…I don't think there's anything—"

The thing fell from the ceiling with the speed of a bullet, its talons sinking into Edward's shoulders and shoving him to the ground so quickly and forcefully he didn't even have time—or breath—to scream. The convulsing squeezing of his fingers against the trigger as he fell let off one, useless shot which ricocheted off a window sill and shattered a pane of glass, sending crystalline shards spiraling to the floor. The next moment he was being smothered by the heavy form of the creature on top of him.

Its body roughly resembled that of a lizard, except for its talons and beak, and its back which was covered in lumpy, scaly flesh in the shape of what looked like a person, almost as if there were some human being trapped inside the moster's belly, pushing up past its spine in a desperate attempt to force its way out. Where the thing's eyes ought to have been, there was nothing, merely a continuation of the large, puckered scales of its skin, and it had begun snuffling its face around blindly, as if trying to find the choicest part of Edward's body to begin its feasting with. Koudelka and O'Flaherty both cried out and darted forward as one, united against their common foe.

The priest reached his goal first, the pitchfork he'd dragged up from a storage room pointed directly at the creature's swaying head, but although he rammed his weapon with all his might, it seemed to become lodged in the thing's thick skull and refused to penetrate any deeper. With a squawking roar, the monster tossed its aching head so sharply, the handle of the pitchfork snapped in half, and O'Flaherty, still clinging to it, was thrown several meters across the floor.

As the cleric was discarding the now useless chunk of wood he held, Koudelka was taking the opportunity to plunge her butcher's knife into the foreleg whose double talons were still embedded in the flesh of their unlucky third companion. The nearby mosaic tiles, already growing red with the rivulets of blood flowing down from the adventurer's wound, were now doubly darkened as the blood of the creature mixed with that of Edward upon the floor.

The creature was now in an uproar, swiping right and left at its unseen attackers, but its grip on Edward was loosened, and Koudelka could now hear muffled gasps from the young man and see his form squirming under the weight of his captor. One large, tanned hand managed to free itself and stretch out towards the crouching gypsy woman. It was his right hand, and tight within its grip was his pistol.

Full of understanding, Koudelka grabbed the weapon and looked up, just in time to see the creature's beaked face, its forehead still sporting the blackened prongs of the pitchfork like some unholy crown, descending upon her. She raced to level the gun, but she only had time to will herself not to close her eyes in fear when a flash of light blinded her. Without seeing them, she could feel the heat of the flames which must be racing along the monster's back, and in the back of her mind, she knew the mumbled sounds she was hearing were the sounds of Father O'Flaherty casting a spell, and that the flames were of his making.

Koudelka didn't hesitate; as soon as her sight was sufficiently recovered, she raised the pistol and fired several shots, straight between the creature's eyes—or rather, where its eyes would have been. Her fervent hopes that its brain was not likewise missing from its accustomed place seemed gratified as the bullets pierced the monster's thick skull, sending a splattering of blood and brain matter across the room. Some of it landed on Koudelka's face which she, gagging, immediately wiped off.

The shots seemed to have the desired effect; the creature's head lolled lazily on its neck, and its body fell heavily on its side, conveniently uncovering Edward's head and torso. O'Flaherty hurried over to help Koudelka roll the rest of its bulk off of the young man, while Edward pushed feebly from below. Only when he was freed, able to sit up with a groan, did they pause to catch their breath. Twin gashes showed on Edward's back where the monster had first attacked him, and he winced as Koudelka came over to examine him.

"Here," O'Flaherty grunted, reaching into his knapsack to pull out some of the wine and cheese they'd confiscated from the kitchens. He handed the burgundy-colored bottle to Edward. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"Thanks." Edward took a sip and then winced again as Koudelka placed her hands upon his wounds. A moment of silent concentration passed, and then the healing white light emanated from beneath her palms, soothing the pain and drawing the parted, serrated pieces of flesh back together. "And thanks to you, too," Edward continued, nodding at the young woman.

Koudelka turned away to hide her smile. "Thanks for handing me the gun," she answered dismissively. Noticing O'Flaherty, who was saying some kind of words over the monster's corpse, she added reluctantly, "And thanks for watching my back."

The priest finished his prayers and turned back to the company, clasping his hands thoughtfully behind his back. "There is no need to thank me," he said archly. "We were only doing our duty in looking out for each other."

Normally Koudelka rolled her eyes at O'Flaherty's various religious and personal sentiments, but this time she didn't mock him. "I guess you're right," she murmured. "In that case, next time _nobody_ goes in alone." She favored Edward with a pointed glare. "It won't help us any if you get yourself killed off before we get out of this damn place."

"Hey, no objections here." Edward shrugged agreeably, self-consciously rubbing the sore spots on his shoulders. "I don't particularly want to die."

"Then it's settled." Koudelka had quickly developed a no-nonsense, authoritative tone which established her as the unspoken leader, and now, as she rose to her feet, tugged her jacket more tightly about her shoulders, and began to make her way across the suddenly silent room, the others wearily followed suit. Nobody said anything else for a while, although they were all thinking the same thing: that alone, each of them might easily have died in there. It seemed there would be no avoiding that painful fact after all; for better or worse, they were all in this together.


	6. Oshichiya: Ben, Anne, Saki, PG

A/N: None of these characters belong to me, of course.

In early Japan, so many babies died in birth or shortly thereafter, that it became a tradition to put off naming the baby until the 7th day of its life, when its survival seemed more likely. This name was bestowed in a special naming-ceremony called _o-shichiya_. I apologize if I've made any mistakes. Comments and criticism welcome.

STORY: Oshichiya  
RATING: PG  
CHARACTERS: Ben Hyuga, Anne Hyuga, Saki Hyuga (Inugami)  
WARNINGS: Spoilers for the ending of SH: Covenant

Oshichiya

Again and again the narrow black stick completed its swift, steady, circular motion. In its wake, the shallow water rippled gently, forming an endless progression of spirals, each destroyed and created anew in succession with the movement of the stick. With the completion of each circle, the water grew darker and thicker until the spirals formed with increasing lethargy and the little stone was covered with the shining blue-black liquid.

Taking a deep breath, Ben lifted the ink stick and allowed the excess water to drip off its tip and join the rest of the ink on the grinding stone before carefully laying the stick on the table, propping its damp tip up on the edge of a small dish. He placed his hand on the calligraphy brush lying expectantly in wait, but his eyes traveled away from the brush and up to the little crowd of spectators. Among those spectators was his infant son, seven days old today, and oblivious to the proceedings. Also present was his wife, neatly dressed in a flowing kimono and smiling in spite of her exhaustion. She met his gaze as though she had expected it, and, Ben figured, she probably had.

He didn't say anything. His searching expression and slightly lifted eyebrows communicated his question well enough. _Are you sure?_

There wasn't much Ben would deny his wife if she really wanted it. Heck, there wasn't much he denied her regardless. And she had returned the favor by being a reasonable, loving, and devoted wife. But in this one thing she had been perfectly adamant.

"_Y…Yuri?" Ben was so startled by the suggestion, that he lost his grip on the mat, and it uncurled itself, rolling open with a soft 'thwap' against the floor._

_Although it was past time to get up, Anne's mat was still on the floor, and Anne was still on it, propped up by a heap of quilts Ben had brought in for her comfort. The impressive curve of her stomach was visible through her loose robe, and wispy strands of red hair stuck out on either side of her face. She was smiling with perfect serenity._

"_Yuri," she repeated as confirmation. "It's a Russian name."_

"_It's… a girl's name," Ben replied in dismay._

"_Not in Russia."_

_Ben hadn't particularly wanted to have this conversation. It wasn't that he was superstitious. He knew perfectly well that demons existed, and that forces both benevolent and malicious roamed the earth in every form. And if discussing an unborn baby's gender would possibly invite misfortune, well… but Anne had suddenly launched into the topic, after what was likely eight months of holding her tongue. _

"_We… can think about it. Maybe it won't even be a boy," Ben said at last, grabbing the runaway end of the mat and rolling it once again into a tight cylinder._

"_Please, Ben." Anne leaned forward, away from her mountain of pillows. She was staring right at him, even as he avoided her gaze. "It's important to me."_

"_Yuri," Ben repeated again, shaking his head. He tied the mat off and carried it to the closet. "Isn't there an alternative? I mean, I was…" The closet door hung open idly as Ben turned his head to eye his wife. His gaze was almost shy. "I was hoping, if it were a boy, to name him Masakuro," he confided. "Or Daikuro." He hadn't voiced his intention to anyone, but he'd made the choices long ago, and he knew his father would approve. After all, it was impossible not to hope for a son – the first son of a first son of a first son. They'd kept up the naming convention through eight generations. What would his parents say when they heard that, instead of giving his boy the name of 'Ninth Son,' he wanted to use an effeminate foreign name that sounded like the Japanese word for 'Lily.'_

_Anne didn't respond to his suggestions. She simply closed her eyes and said, "Consider it, for my sake, will you? That name has a lot of meaning for me."_

Her eyes were saying the same thing they had said then. She was sure, determined, unmovable. Ben sighed and lifted the brush, dipping its tip carefully in the little pool of ink. The soft white hairs of the brush tip turned a sleek, oily black as Ben moved the brush back and forth. He allowed it to glide along the rim of the grinding stone, preserving the smooth, pointed shape. There could be no drips or blotches today.

Calligraphy was not really Ben's strong point, but his handwriting was decent enough. Even when he had longed to be outside playing, he had respected his mother's wishes that he take his studies seriously. She had long maintained that the Hyuga family must be more than brutes and bodyguards. Strength, she had said, without wisdom and determination, is nothing.

Now his mother was watching closely as his brush hovered thoughtfully over the meimeisho. It was his hand that would write the baby's new name. And whatever he wrote would be accepted – by his mother and by Anne. The first stroke of ink against the paper would be the deciding one.

"_Masakuro?" Saki laughed, plunging the little rice bowl into the rinsing water and shaking her head at the absent father-to-be. "Oh, Ben, Ben,__ Ben. What a horrible name."_

"_There's nothing wrong with it," Anne replied in a reconciliatory tone. She wondered if Ben would be angry with her for revealing his chosen name to his sister. He wasn't here at the moment, but there seemed to be a strong possibility that Saki would make her opinions known to him._

"_Oh, I suppose it's not that terrible," Saki conceded, handing the bowl to Anne for drying. "It's just so… so… Well, it just sounds uncomfortable. I was hoping Ben would break that ridiculous tradition. Jinpachiro – the great eighth son – is bad enough! Soon we'll be having children named 'Eleventh Son' and 'Fifteenth Son.'" She grabbed a whole handful of chopsticks and began washing them as one. "Someone will have to put his foot down somewhere. I certainly won't be naming any sons of mine something like that."_

_For a moment, Anne simply concentrated on the motions of drying the dishes without replying, enjoying the rhythmic movement of the towel. For the last eight months she had had to concentrate on mundane tasks, filling up her hours with busywork to prevent herself from dwelling too deeply on the situation. But, of course, when night fell and all chores came to a temporary halt, when Ben was lying deeply asleep beside her, his arms unconsciously tightening around her ever-increasing belly, the thoughts _would_ come, unbidden and inevitable. _

_How long before she held him in her arms? Gazed at his face again, incredibly altered and yet undeniably the same? Even now her body was giving him life, the life that he would live. She often felt him, moving around inside of her, and she marveled that this was her fate, through her actions, to bring the very one she loved into being._

_There had been nights of panic and doubt as well. It _was_ him, after all, wasn't it? It must be. He was an only child. And yet, just because he had never spoken of some miscarried older sibling didn't mean one couldn't exist. And worse yet, she hadn't planned to get pregnant just now. She hadn't known she would, although, of course, the awareness of its impending necessity had never quite left her. Kato had meant to change the course of history by altering the past. If such meddling was possible, what might her meddling have accomplished? What if she was carrying the wrong child, and _he _was just a theoretical possibility lost to time. What if, rather than give him life, she had erased him from being?_

_The bowl slipped from Anne's hands and hurtled towards the floor. It was the flash of Saki's hand, with uncanny timing, that saved it. As her sister-in-law threw her a grin and set the bowl atop a stack of identical dishware, Anne shook her head to clear the fears that gripped her heart._

"_I know it means a lot to Ben to name the child according to tradition," she said slowly. "And I don't want to hurt him. But his name must be Yuri. It just has to be."_

_Saki's expression grew cunning, always a bad sign. "What is it about this name that's so important?" she asked, drying the chopsticks herself._

"_It's…" Anne hesitated, feeling the warmth of a blush in her cheeks. She glanced out the open window, the colorful shutters thrown back to let in fresh air. Only a few paces from the back of the house was a wall with a prettily-tiled roof. Beyond that, large trees jutted up, towering high above the wall and casting jagged shadows over the yard. Beyond that lay the road, leading through the forest to the city, and eventually, to the rest of the world. "It's the name of a man I loved."_

"_Oh, Anne!" Saki gave a gasp and looked at her sister-in-law with a playfully scandalized face. She brought her hands, submerged in the rinse tub, up with a sudden motion and splashed the water in Anne's face. "How naughty of you!"_

"_It's not like that," Anne protested, wiping her face with the drying towel and wondering what exactly it was like. Impossible to explain, even to this intuitive, great-hearted woman next to her. She had a feeling the blush on her face was betraying her. Did Saki know that that wasn't exactly the truth? "It's just that… Have you ever felt that something was meant to be? I lost someone important to me, but through my actions, he can live on. He _has _to."_

_Saki stared at Anne for a long, hard minute, then went back to washing the dishes. "Oh, well, then. If the fate of the world depends on it." Her tone was teasing and ironic, but Anne never quite knew when Saki was being serious or not, and now was no exception. She decided to let it go. Saki was continuing, "Ben will come around in the end. He may feel pressure to do his duty as a first son, but he's not afraid to stand up for himself. He did nickname himself _Ben_ after all. And he loves you. There's always that."_

The brush descended on the scroll in a swift, elegant stroke, leaving a single streak of black against the off-white was soon joined by another. And another. Each trail of ink had to be carefully controlled and precisely formed. To achieve this, the calligrapher must be at peace with himself, in tune with the writing.

Ben knew the answer was a simple one. For years the Hyuga clan had been the protectors of their homeland. For generations they had carried out their duty, as demanded by their great power. But Ben had joined the army and learned how to use rifles and grenades instead of a sword. He had taken the Western nickname of 'Ben' and married a foreign woman. He knew that the development of the Empire did not lie in clinging to tradition and custom and the past. His homeland would one day come to join the great powers of the world, mingling in the rapidly-changing and ever-expanding course of the future. And his family would be the same.

Besides, it seemed that, perhaps, he didn't have any choice after all.

"_There'll be some old blankets in the storage room," Saki said, waving a commanding hand at her older brother. "Oh, and that wash bowl with the crack in it. Nobody cares about that one."_

_Ben paused in mid-step and turned around with a frown. "Saki, my child is not going to be born into a room full of unwanted junk."_

_Saki's eyes flashed apologetically, but her voice and manner remained the same. "Oh, I'm just going to use it for washing rags. Don't worry." She waved her hand again. "Go on, big brother."_

_Ben rolled his eyes and tromped off towards the storage building. It was separated from the main house by a little gravel path and held an assortment of things his parents had probably meant to get rid of someday but hadn't gotten around to. Ben paused at the edge of the house to slip on his sandals and began making his way across the path. Anne was a strong, brave, and energetic woman. He knew he shouldn't be worried about her, although he couldn't help feeling a pang of nerves._

_Normally, a woman was sent away to her family's home to endure her pregnancy and labor. But Anne had no family and nowhere to go. His parents had kindly overlooked the tradition and made her comfortable in their own home. Ben was glad of it. The separation would have been horrible._

_Having reached his destination, Ben slid open the storage room door. Although it was technically an out-building, the door was seldom locked. There really weren't many thieves in the area, and none of them would dare to steal from a Hyuga's house. _

_Even lit by the mid-day sunshine, the store room looked dim and dusty. The various items had been neatly arranged on straight wooden shelves, but over time, the sheer amount of things had made it difficult to see what was there. The blankets were easy to find – a large, neatly-folded stack on a top corner shelf – but the cracked pot was another story. There were several tall urns, but they were deep and narrow, inappropriate for washing. Ben pulled forward a likely-looking box and rummaged through it. The pot was not there, but something else was. The box was a collection of some of Ben's old things, including a few old daguerreotypes he had kept. On the top was a picture of a family. But the funny thing was, it was a family that didn't exist, or hadn't existed back when Ben had first found the photo._

_So much had happened since then, that Ben had almost forgotten the strange circumstances that had brought Anne and him together. At the time, she had been carrying a photograph. A photograph of herself with Ben, although they had never met before and certainly never taken a photo together. But there was a third person in the photo, one whose strange presence Ben had completely forgotten in the intervening years. It was a child with messy hair and laughing eyes, who bore a strong resemblance to Ben himself, but whom Ben had never laid eyes on then or since. On the back of the photo, three names had been scrawled: Jinpachiro, Anne, and Yuri._

_It was Saki who startled Ben out of his contemplation. "How hard could it be to find a few old blankets and a pot?" she was saying as she came into view from the gravel path. Ben wondered how long he'd been sitting on the store room floor. His sister stepped off the gravel path and into the store room. "What the matter with you?"_

"_Nothing," Ben said quickly, getting to his feet and wiping the dust off the seat of his pants. He tried to form a sentence a few times and failed. Finally, he said, "Saki, if you thought someone knew something, and that person was keeping it from you, but you completely trusted that person…"_

_Saki, who had somehow already found and obtained the desired pot, looked over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. "If it's about that old lover thing, I wouldn't worry about it."_

"_What?"_

"_Huh?" Saki met her brother's surprised stare, and then suddenly broke it to look around the store room intently. "Oh, nothing. Did you find the blankets as least? Here they are! Ooh, this could be handy, too." Before he could stop her, she was out of the building, arms full of items that probably wouldn't be of any actual use in the labor, and he was left to make his decision on his own._

_Stuffing the photo into his pocket, he followed Saki out of the building and back to the house._

When the brush stopped moving at last, Ben looked up and saw Anne smiling at him. Of all the faces in the crowd, whether his mother's solemn expression, or Saki's knowing smirk, only this one face mattered to him. _Thank you_, she mouthed, and her glowing features and bright, loving eyes were reward enough.

Taking the scroll in both hands, Ben held it up so the onlookers could see his new son's official name. In sparse katakana, rather than the graceful complexity of kanji, it was an odd name, certainly the first for any Hyuga. And yet, it was the only possible name for his son: Yuri Bort Hyuga.


	7. Growing Pains: Yuri, Kurando, PG13

A/N: None of these characters belong to me, of course.

It's been awhile since I did the Jutendouji part in the game, so I may have made some mistakes. Feel free to correct me. Comments and criticism welcome.

STORY: Growing Pains  
RATING: PG-13  
CHARACTERS: Yuri Hyuga, Kurando Inugami  
WARNINGS: Light innuendo. Spoilers for Kurando's optional fusion?

Growing Pains

The river had a peaceful quality to it, in the way that its muddy banks sloped gently, softened by a long accumulation of moss and reeds. Large, lazy flowers drooped over the protruding rocks, worn so smooth by the passing river, that the water barely broke over them as it ran by. The blood and dirt left a temporary smear, red and uneven across the surface. But even this was soon carried off and dispersed by the current, so that, presently, not a trace of it remained.

At last, having scrubbed himself to his satisfaction, Yuri emerged from the river and climbed back up onto the bank. Tiny streams of water ran all down his arms and back, eventually gathering in muddy puddles around his feet. Well, wasn't it just the truth, that the minute you got out of the bath was the minute you started collecting dirt again? Yuri laughed at this thought and walked over to the little tree where his clothes were waiting.

So warm and quiet was this little wooded path, that he didn't even go immediately back to the camp. Instead, he let his steps wander a ways up the small, shady cliff that bordered the river. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of the others, laughing, splashing in the water, and calling out to each other. It was so enjoyable, that he almost didn't notice Kurando, who was sitting just ahead of him, as still and silent as the rocks themselves.

_Is he praying_, Yuri wondered, taking in Kurando's kneeling stance and air of concentration. But the boy's eyes were intently fixed, not on the incomprehensible heavens, but on some very real point just beyond the cliff's edge. _An ambush?_

The harmonixer hurried forward and crouched down next to his cousin, trying to follow his gaze. "What is it?"

The question was met with a very unexpected response. Without warning, Kurando yelped and fell back, landing awkwardly on a pile of very prickly-looking weeds. The younger boy grimaced in silent pain, but Yuri was more interested in the hue of his face, which was blushing as red as a tomato, a color that Yuri didn't think had anything to do with the weeds' thorns. Because, as it happened, in that brief moment of looking out over the cliff, Yuri had already seen what Kurando had been looking at.

For a moment, the two harmonixers stared at each other in silence. Then Yuri burst into laughter.

"Don't laugh," Kurando cried in muted dismay, mortification and betrayal warring on his youthful face. "I was just…"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me what you were doing," Yuri cackled, lowering his voice. And because Kurando still didn't seem to see the humor in the situation, he added, "It's not like I'm criticizing you. In fact…" He ducked his head under a low-hanging tree branch and looked back out at the river below. "… I commend you." And indeed, this particular spot yielded an excellent view of Karin and Lucia, who were wading in a shallow bend in the river just below, washing their clothes with a mixture of soap and old-fashioned scrubbing. And since the two young women were busy _washing_ their clothes, the natural consequence was that they weren't _wearing_ them.

Yuri's reflection on this happy coincidence was interrupted by the sensation of Kurando yanking him back by the collar of his jacket, accompanied by an urgently hissed, "Stop that!"

"Oh, nobody's gettin' hurt by it," Yuri said flippantly, but he left the cliff edge and turned back to face his cousin. By this time, Kurando's face was no longer so much red as a sickly white with crimson splotches around the cheeks, so that even Yuri was surprised by the intensity of it. "Come on, it's not so bad."

"You can't tell them!" Kurando persisted. "Please."

"I wasn't gonna tell them," Yuri replied with mirthful incredulity. "You think I want to get kicked in the face by Karin?" This reply didn't seem to do anything to assuage Kurando's fears, so Yuri simply rocked back on his heels and began to stand up. "There's no harm done, so forget about it," he said, eyeing some wild raspberries growing on a nearby bush. They weren't quite ripe, but he plucked one anyway and put it in his mouth. He immediately made a face. Too sour.

It took him a moment to realize that Kurando wasn't following, that he was still rooted to his earlier spot, staring with renewed purpose at Yuri's back. "I… I've been wanting to talk to you about something," he said, with a clear effort at keeping his voice calm and strong.

Yuri choose a more promising-looking raspberry with a deeper hue and popped it into his mouth. "Oh, yeah? What?"

"I've started having these urges…"

Yuri spit the raspberry out with such force, that it flew half a meter in front of him and landed with a splat on a gnarled piece of root. The younger man had stopped talking, his resolve apparently shaken, so that Yuri had to look around and catch his eye. He felt the laugh coming and tried to suppress it, managing only to turn it into a very loud snort. "What did you say?"

The blush was back, but Kurando pressed painfully on, his hands clenched, white-knuckled, at his sides. "I mean, I've had them before… but ever since Jutendouji… I've… "

"Oh, that." Well, it was a little better than Yuri had feared, but not much better. "That's just the demon talking. They have a way of intensifying that stuff."

"It was never like this with Tsukiyomi."

"Yeah, well, Tsukiyomi isn't exactly the epitome of… manliness."

"I don't know what to do!"

"Do?" Yuri sighed. He wasn't sure what the heck Kurando was expecting him to say about all this. His instinct told him to make a run for it, but when he glanced at Kurando's sagging shoulders and embarrassed expression, he felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy. After all, he'd grown up without a father too.

The poor boy looked like he needed a hug, but Yuri wasn't a particularly demonstrative person. He settled for an affectionate punch on the shoulder which almost sent Kurando reeling. "Come on, kid. You'd think you'd killed somebody. It's perfectly normal. The demon's probably just making you feel it particularly, ah, hard."

"Was that a joke?"

"Don't be so stiff."

Kurando turned away with a frown. "Of course I've read about it," he muttered. "About the demon's influence…"

The corner of Yuri's mouth turned up wryly. "But you're finding out that reading about it doesn't mean jack compared to living it, huh?"

"Was it like this for you when you first changed?" Kurando asked desperately.

Yuri didn't reply right away. His gaze wandered off into the trees, whose high boughs waved gently back and forth with the breeze, rustling continually against one another in a never-ending chorus. "I don't really remember," he said at last, and the softness of his voice seemed to startle Kurando. "I've been carryin' this thing around inside of me so long, I barely remember what it was like before. Plus there's so many of 'em now…" He didn't even mention the curse, whose power was slowly eating away at his memories so that some days, his entire childhood felt like a dream.

"I'm sorry," Kurando murmured, and those two words jolted Yuri back to the present, a present where he was embarrassed to have been caught getting so sentimental.

"Ah, it's nothing," he replied hurriedly, waving a dismissive hand. "Look. There's no reason to be ashamed. It's part of who you are. The sooner you accept it, the easier it'll be to deal with."

"And there's nothing I can do about it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that…"

The two men descended on the camp to find it deserted. Fortunately, Karin and Lucia were still washing clothes. Even more fortunately, Anastasia was not around, having gone with Joachim to gather firewood. Making a mental note to yell at everybody later for abandoning the base camp, Yuri swiftly made his way over to his pack, Kurando in tow. He knelt down, unbuckled the straps that held it closed, and began rummaging around. After a moment, he pulled out a handful of photographs and drawings. The top one showed a burly samurai wearing nothing but a katana and a loincloth. Yuri colored. "Not that one," he said hastily, shoving it back in the pack.

The other pictures showed women. Most of the women were posing with innocuous items, like umbrellas and flower vases, and missing several important items of clothing. Some had adopted very creative poses, indeed. One picture revealed a tall, beautiful woman dressed as a dancer, with "dressed" being a generous term, considering she wasn't technically wearing much of anything. Her suggestive stance managed to make her look inviting and exotic at the same time. At the bottom of the picture, a feminine hand had scrawled "love, Margarete."

"What—" Kurando protested, but he couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Take 'em," Yuri replied, after a moment's fond contemplation of the images. "You need 'em more than I do." Kurando tried to back away, but Yuri gathered up the images, grabbed his cousin by the neckline of his kimono, and shoved the pictures at him. "Now get outta here."

Kurando hesitated a moment, then seemed to accept this turn of events. He began to move over towards his own meager pile of belongings, but he looked back around when Yuri called out.

"And Kurando," the older harmonixer was saying, raising an eyebrow at the young warrior, "try to relax."


End file.
